


Touch

by Harmony



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 11:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harmony/pseuds/Harmony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He felt a pull out of a strange dream; a vision of dust and rubble and sadness, of red smeared across ashen walls of stone and the distant echo of a lost piano melody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet was a request from Kiwipunch, who gave me the prompt "gloves". Takes place after the Alma arc. Also posted at [my Livejournal](http://silverharmony.livejournal.com) :) Any feedback would be very much appreciated.

_Allen. Allen, wake up._  
  
He felt a pull out of a strange dream; a vision of dust and rubble and sadness, of red smeared across ashen walls of stone and the distant echo of a lost piano melody. There was a prickling in his skin – a sensation he remembered from the mysterious shades of dark grey surging from him, through his veins – and he awoke to a bleary world, faint light glaring into his eyes, his vision stirring; for a brief moment, he imagined a smarting in his left eye, but vaguely came to realize that it was left over from his dreams of everlasting expanses of debris, of white otherworldly faces and distant shadowy whispering. Hovering over him, he dimly saw a mess of red hair and his friend’s familiar features clearing, watching him with intent carved into his expression.  
  
‘Thank God, you’re awake,’ sighed Lavi in relief. ‘You were having a nightmare.’  
  
Allen blinked, confused, and slowly turned his gaze to his arm. The skin was smooth and pale, the way it had always been. A stretch of his fingers, and then a gentle curl into a fist. It was just a dream, and he was lying here in his hard bed, surrounded by the sheer cold walls of stone and grey roof and the airy chill of emptiness.  
  
He shifted and made to sit up, and firm, warm fingers instantly took hold of his arms, helping him up. A sharp pain shot through his abdomen, and he winced. The wound there had almost totally healed; but he could still remember that thin coldness slicing through him, that last parting gift from Mugen’s blade of the unbearable pain that told him he was still alive, before he was suddenly turned. That almost felt like a distant memory now, and not the passing of a mere couple of weeks.  
  
‘Careful, don’t strain yourself,’ the redhead uttered, his voice filled with concern. ‘Should I help you change?’  
  
Allen looked up at him and smiled. ‘Thanks, Lavi. That would be nice.’  
  
It wasn’t as though he were injured to the point of immobility; he had almost healed, after all, and Lavi must have known that also, just from a look. But even for a fleeting moment, he wanted to secretly savor this uncharacteristic brief self-centeredness, to accept the tender attention that the older youth was giving him. Nimble fingertips only gently unfastened the buttons on his nightshirt, and Allen was already filled with an overwhelming warmth, masking the faint traces of that vague stinging within his chest.  
  
‘You miss Yuu, don’t you,’ said the redhead off-handedly; and there was a slight edge to his voice that the white-haired exorcist had never heard from him before. He goggled, staring at his friend incredulously.  
  
‘What are you talking about,’ he retorted instantly in disbelief, the soft fabric sliding from his shoulders. ‘Why on earth would I miss him?’  
  
‘Just thought you would, since he’s not around to argue with you all day. But if you don’t miss him, that’s good,’ Lavi responded, and maybe Allen imagined it, but that unusual sharpness to his voice softened with those words. ‘He’s undoubtedly doing alright, since he always is. Particularly when that friend of his is with him. They look like they have an impassable history between them.’  
  
Allen, for some reason, didn’t want to think about Alma at that moment. Something about the whole ordeal was unbearably heartbreaking to even recall, whether or not it concerned him at all. For now, he only wanted to drown in the gentle smell of warmth and the touch of human skin against his own, and push down the recollections of blades and akuma and rubble and the Fourteenth, and the memories that weren’t his own. He lifted his arms; the older boy slowly slid his white shirt on him, and Allen could feel a tremor in his fingertips.  
  
‘Sometimes I think it’d be fun, if we ran off for a while like they did,’ Lavi said with a joking laugh, and his singular eye gleamed with something that the white-haired exorcist knew was not entirely a joke. ‘You and me.’  
  
His lips curved slowly into a smile as he felt his cotton gloves being slid upon his thin hands, and he fleetingly touched that palm against his own, skin to skin. ‘If only we could,’ he answered. ‘But we can’t.’  
  
The redhead shook his head, and smiled as well. ‘I know.'  
  
Either way, it didn’t really matter. Allen momentarily curled his hand around his friend’s in reply, and the redhead gazed at him in surprise for a brief instant; but he reciprocated, and Allen could still freshly recall the slight roughness of that battle-worn skin, could feel that body heat through the fabric of his gloves, mingling between them as if they were a shared existence within the cold grey room. He closed his eyes. Even with only this and nothing else, he felt he could get by.  
  
At least, for now, it wasn’t a memory or dream.


End file.
